No Greater Love: 3 Heroes from Aurora

(As posted at Austin Catholic New Media:)

When I was sixteen, I had a boyfriend. My young heart was madly in love. I had also spent some time reading the Bible, inspired by my Baptist friends. One day, I came across this verse:

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”  John 15:13

In a fit of romanticism, I wrote it out on a pretty piece of paper and gave it to him. “I love you this much!” I said. He looked at me like I was crazy. We were an emotional dicotomy (as most 16 year olds are) and the relationship fizzled over time.

But, that verse came into mind again today, as I read the news story of three brave men who gave their lives for their loves in the Aurora movie theater shooting: Jon Blunk, Matt McQuinn and Alex Teves.

I do not like to pontificate on national tragedies. I do not like to blow things up into grandiose ideas or gloss over horrible deaths to make a point. I am not trying to do that here. I am, however, profoundly touched by what these men did for their loves. In a split second, without thinking twice, they threw their bodies on top of their girlfriends, cramming them under seats, pushing them down, and taking the bullets to preserve their lives. They did not contemplate. They did not consider the consequences. They did not take one more look at the girl’s face to decide if she was worth it. Instead, they were all-in and shielded the ones they loved from definitive horror.

I do not know these couples from Adam.  From their photographs, they look like any young couple I might see around this college town. One decked out in formal attire, one couple in swimsuits smiling on a rocky ocean shore and another posing in front of a webcam, numerous piercings decorating their faces. I don’t know what kind of relationships they had, if they held the door open for their ladies, if they said please and thank you or had promising careers. I do know that they did not hesitate to do the good thing.

This gives me hope.

In the midst of such strange horror, God does allow a little peak of light. In the midst of so much confusion and sadness many are asking why, those three girls are still in shock, and so many are hurting. But, I think it’s okay for us to take a glimpse at this little light of goodness and consider it for just a moment.

What more random sampling of people can America pull together than a group going to the premiere of a Batman movie. Really? A nice selection of the American public, all in one room, enjoying their free time. And then one walks in to shatter everything. We have tears. We have confusion. We have anger. We have questions about society, about reality, about media, about safety. But we also have this grand bravery left behind.

Life is not perfect. These men were probably not perfect. Our world is not perfect. People struggle to make the right choices, fight to keep jobs, to make relationships work, to find love. And sometimes, it seems that today’s society makes attaining these things even harder than it used to be.
But, I’m forever an optimist. I refuse to think that it is all over. I’m not a quitter. And these men show me that I’m not alone. We really do want what is good. We really do want to be brave. We really do want to have someone save us. Or save someone else, at all cost. Don’t we?

I pray for all those victims who lost their lives. I pray for those who mourn. I pray that we all, in our gut, without a moment’s hesitation, will have that courage to love with all we have.

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:13

This verse was read as the Gospel at my wedding. My true love meant it with all his heart. And today I know three men who lived it.

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{pretty, happy, funny, real}

~ Capturing the context of everyday life ~

Every Thursday, at Like Mother, Like Daughter!

{pretty}

I love downtown Bryan, Texas. This wall, across from a cafe where I go sometimes to work, has an old, weathered, once-painted Coca-Cola signed. The colors just can't be recreated. I love this wall!

{happy}

   

I've started blogging regularly at Austin Catholic New Media, which serves our diocese, the Diocese of Austin, Texas. So far, I've written 2 posts. I'm wondering when I will run out of ideas. But, so far, I've enjoyed it very much. The site is an exciting project, with a group of around 25 laity from all around the area. I look forward to meeting them in person!

  

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Yesterday, Colleen rolled around in Jonathan's old tonka truck, pretending it was a wheel-chair. She has a great-uncle in a wheel chair and imagines that he has great fun wheeling around the world. 

{funny}

We were shopping for Katherine's reading prize (I finally have a child who needs major motivation to sit down and read. I once found her with her book on her head, spinning in circles in her room). We found Target Barbie. On clearance. With an orangey-red basket and a target credit card in her hand. 

{real}

Yesterday I also backed into a car. A sixteen year old's brand new silver Mustang. I didn't do much damage, just 2 dings. But, as I got out to talk to the girl, I noticed the car behind her. An old, rusty, beat up sedan with literally plastic bags taped over all the back and passenger windows. And the bumper hanging half-off. But, I hit the new Mustang. 

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And, while at Target mulling over Target Barbie, we also walked past what used to the the 'summer aisle'. It is now the 'school supply aisle'. And I was sad. And I was so thrilled that I was sad. I'm not ready for them to go back yet. I resist!

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{Pretty. Happy. Funny. Real.}

~ Capturing the context of everyday life ~

Every Thursday, at Like Mother, Like Daughter!

{pretty}

Fireworks are always pretty. After a strange day where my husband worked instead of taking the day off, it all ended well. We joined the rest of the Bryan/College Station area at the George Bush Presidential Library for the annual 4th of July celebration. A symphony, a breeze, friends and fireworks made it all end well. Very sleepy children and dreams of bursting stars. 

{happy}

My oldest daughter has begun taking French Horn lessons in preparation for joining band next year. She enjoys it, but begrudgingly practices. Last night, we had the privilege of listening to the Brazos Valley Symphony Orchestra. Live. Sitting on the pavement smack in front of them. Watching the conductor ferociously lead his people on, flags blowing in the wind, some sheet music escaping the stand, to be caught by a swift tympani player. In the very back row sat the three french horns players. Emelie snuck to back to watch them perform Copland's Hoe-down and Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. She tried to unobtrusively

 take a photo of the first chair french horn player - a blonde female, just like her. She was caught! Nevermind, the kind lady smiled for her photo, her hair blowing in her face, and Emelie is practicing her horn as I type....

{funny}

Spunky little girls are always funny. These two have been friends since they were born. They push and shove. They tattle like their preparing for war. They finish each other's sentences and stand, hugging while waiting for their mommies to stop talking. Like a pair of kittens. I think they'll be friends for quite a while yet. It should be fun!

Zack and Curt, way back in something like 1994 or 5?

Our friend Zack passed away 9 years ago last month. He suffered from Cystic Fibrosis, as did his sister, who passed away the year before he did. Yet, when I remember him, I remember his laughter. How he liked to quote the old testament often, reminding us to "gird our loins" with his raspy chuckle. He was a brilliant mathematician, and a brilliant friend. He was a most faithful Catholic. He prayed for his wife through his last hours and fought beyond hope to make it till their 5th wedding anniversary before moving on to heaven.  When he could no longer work, he would sit in front of Planned Parenthood in a folding chair with his oxygen tank and pray.  His last meeting with a close friend, just a few days before his death, had nothing to do with him. He wanted to know when he would finally become Catholic. Did he have any questions about the Eucharist that he could help  him out with? He was my husband's best friend. He stood up at our wedding. We miss him, but will always remember his laugh and his joy for life. 

{real}

sleeping, sick boy. I gave him a mohawk while he slept. 

My boy has been sick with a fever. Too tired to watch a movie, that's how sick. His cheeks turned red and his eyes glassy and he just wanted to lay his head in my lap. Flashbacks to when he was a little tiny boy. Those sweet eyes are still the same. 

Jonathan and his counselor, Jorvis.

Same boy. Not sick. 

Recently, he participated in Camp Adventure, a camp offered by Texas A&M. Quite pricey, but worth every penny.  His counselor, was, well, simply wonderful. One night, after a busy day of camp activities, my husband tucked Jonathan in bed. He stayed in the room for a while, talking. When he finally came out, he dropped onto the couch and said, "That Jorvis. He's a good man."  Me, being the meddling type, asked "Why?  What happened?!" And he, being the man-of-few-words type, simply said, "He's just a really good guy. He and Jonathan had a good talk today..."  And that was all. I was content to let it remain. I'm thankful for Jorvis, thankful for good role-models. Because, as much as we love them, as much as we can tell them everyday that they are wonderful and amazing and talented, sometimes they just want to hear good words from someone else. Who's NOT their mother. Someone with no strings attached. Someone who's just a really good guy with eyes to see and a heart to share. 

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And I Find Myself Smirking at God

Does your child ever do something so witty and surprising that you just shake your head and let a smirk creep across your face?

My son cracked out with a clever quip last week and I just burst out laughing. I don’t often burst out into anything.

I like that feeling.

Over the past few weeks I have found my self smirking at God. Shaking my head once again. Surprised at myself for being surprised. That He loves me.

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"The farmer dude is awesome!" or, "Girls' Commentary on Emma, by Jane Austen"

My daughter had her birthday sleepover last night. We went swimming, out to eat, painted nails and watched a movie. The movie was the main event, anticipated greatly by at least one of us.

Me.

You see, this was the first time I allowed my daughter to experience Jane Austen. I have protected Jane  from the offense of being read by to young-a-girl, of being blown off, misunderstood, or haphazardly compared to any other romantic girl-in-pretty-dress period movie or book that they may have seen or read.  I wanted to make sure that Emelie would be old enough to truly appreciate Jane.

I chose Emma, the 2009 BBC version for the movie selection. Emma is the most comedic of Jane Austen's works, and Emma herself is a very realistic character, with serious flaws, who makes real mistakes. The BBC version of the movie is 4 hours long and stays very true to the novel.

I had a fear that they wouldn't like it. That they'd think it was boring, slow, old-fashioned or too complex. If that had been the case, I'm not sure what I would have done. Go cry in my room. Offer my kids up for adoption... I just don't know. But, I didn't have to find out because they all loved it. (See video at the end of this post) At 11:35, when we were just half way through, they tried to predict the ending, and then insisted that we watch it all the way through, right then, and not wait till morning as was the plan. I obliged and we finally went to bed at 2 AM.

It was worth every minute - listening to them groan at Mr. Elton, feel sorry for poor Harriet, complain about snooty Emma, swoon over Frank Churchill and plead with Mr. Knightley to just "get down on one knee already!"

As Emelie said half way through, "Frank is nice and cute, but he always seems to get Emma into trouble. Then, Mr. Knightley is there to pull her out. I think I like him best." They were won over 100%. Jane Austen has been successfully passed down to another generation just as she has been for these past 200 years!

"(Jane Austen's novels) appear to be compact of abject truth. Their events are excruciatingly unimportant; and yet, with Robinson Crusoe, they will probably outlast all Fielding, Scott, George Elliot, Thackeray, and Dickens. The art is so consummate that the secret is hidden; peer at them as hard as one may; shake them; take them apart; one cannot see how it is done."

Thornton Wilder, 1938

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I'm not afraid anymore

I've just realized it. Just now.

I've been sitting here at my computer, attempting to design a stunning website for a client, listening to my two little girls (ages 4 and 6) playing in the living room next to me.

They were playing 'Getting Married'. This entails pretending to put make up on, going dancing and finding a husband. They ask the imaginary men if they think they're pretty. They decide if they like the imaginary guy and then run off with a towel over their hair for an impromptu wedding in the entry way.

I sat here, looking out the window laughing at them.

I just smiled and laughed and tried to watch them without being caught, because that would end the game, of course.

See, several years ago, I would have stopped the game.  I would have told them that they shouldn't be thinking about getting married... you're just little girls, right?! This is a very serious thing.  I would have asked them why they were worried if a guy thought they were pretty. Inner beauty is much more important. And, it takes a long time to find a husband. This just isn't something we play at, girls.


(I'll pause here while you laugh at me...)

But, that was several years ago.

Because I was paranoid.

I've always had an overwhelming desire to have what is good for my children. I want them to be Catholic, moral, holy, discerning.  I want them to choose good spouses. I want them to go to heaven. And, I guess in my ignorance as a young mother, I thought I could 'force' those things by creating a certain environment. By reading only certain books, watching only certain kinds of shows, by playing only certain kinds of games. More impressively, by what we wouldn't do.  What we wouldn't hear, see, discuss or pretend. If I guarded them against anything and everything that could possible open a path to something wayward, then nothing bad could ever happen, right? I could control it. Yes.

I needed to control because I was so afraid. Afraid that they'd be like me. That they'd make stupid decisions. That they'd get hurt and hurt others. That they'd be selfish and worldly and not listen to the Lord speaking in their hearts. Goodness sake, I can't have THAT. None of it. They'd be lost forever. And what would my friends think?

Then, at Easter Vigil this year, I realized something big. Big for me, at least. God got me anyway. Despite myself. Despite my weaknesses (of which there are many), despite my insecurities and obsessions. Despite my temptations, my past, my worldliness. He caught me and let me fall in love with his Church. If He can do that for me, with no lectures or cautionary tales before each life decision, then He can do that for others, surely?

And then, something else has helped. Having older children. I see in them a heart and a conscience that I could not have molded. I see them making choices that impress me. I see them wondering about people and how they act. I see them discussing the Church and her teachings and seeing the bigger picture behind them. I see them choosing friends that are children I admire greatly. I see them naturally seeking the good and turning away from the bad. And this gives me great hope.

Don't worry. I'm not walking away. I'll still fret, I'm sure. I'll still pray for them. I'll still teach our Faith and discuss life with them. But, not out of fear.  Rather, I'll do all these things out of hope. Because I know it's true and good. I see their little souls leaning toward the truth like my houseplant that leans awkwardly toward the window in the kitchen. It'll do anything for a little light.

If He can catch me, He can catch just about anyone. I'm not afraid.

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Frayed.

As I write this, the man who relieved my husband of his job almost exactly a year ago just walked past me in Starbucks. The man who, because of his actions, caused my husband to find a new job which he spends 3 hours a day driving to and from. I am resentful of this man. I resent his shiny shoes and expensive suit. Of his well groomed head of hair swept back so handsomely. I resent that he tries to make eye contact and I avoid, because this time, I think I really might punch him. I resent the fact that I am stretched farther than I ever thought I'd be stretched. I may be fraying. I expect to snap soon.

As imperfect as it was, I miss our old life. I miss my husband. He is my best friend. I adore him. He listens to me talk. When we first started dating, he told me "I like how you talk. It's like I can hear your brain". For most men, that would be a nightmare.  How lucky am I?

But now, he kisses my forehead while I sleep when he leaves in the morning and I watch him fall asleep on the couch next to me only minutes after the kids are tucked in. He tries to stay awake. He just can't. I'll call him with a run down on the kids: "This one talked back to the teacher, that one cried all through recess because she wasn't invited to a birthday party. French Horns cost $400, let me know if we're going that route. The boy was hopping around the living room in that tall laundry basket, fell into our new bookshelves and whacked off a chunk of wood. Tune in again next week..."

The other day, driving home,  he had to pull over on the side of the road, next to some farm near Cameron, TX because he was falling asleep. I don't know how long he stopped. I don't know how often that happens. I do know that I listen to the radio each afternoon, ears perked for news of car accidents. I pray over his tires and the skinny cattle that sometimes wander onto the highway.  I strain my every nerve to keep myself from obsessing over his safety, from generating statistics on the number of hours he drives, the daylight he is allotted, the condition of the rusty tin can he calls a car. That has no air conditioning.

All this, and I get angry. Seems like he should be the angry one. But he's not. He just goes on. He's tougher. He does it for us. Sometimes I think I need to be angry for both of us. And, at moments, I am. 

I know it will be good in the end. That much worse things befall couples every day. I just never thought this is how it would be. I know someday, we will reminisce with our children and grandchildren, "Oh, remember that job where you were gone all the time and all mom made for dinner was pizza and hot dogs wrapped in tortillas!?"  That will be nice.

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